Famous Children Poems - Page 3

(sing to the tune of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game")

Let me out of the classroom.
Let me out of the school.
I’m not so good at geography.
I would rather be watching T.V.

It’s still twenty minutes till recess.
Lunch is hours away.
Won’t you please, please, please get me out
of the class today?

Someone’s here with a note now.
Teacher’s calling my name.
He says my mother is right outside.
I should go and she’ll give me a ride

to my yearly dentist appointment.
I forgot it’s today!
Teacher please, please, please help me out.
Won’t you let me stay?

“Let Me Out of the Classroom” copyright © 2007 Kenn Nesbitt. All Rights Reserved. Published in Revenge of the Lunch Ladies. Reprinted by permission of the author. www.poetry4kids.com

At evening when I go to bed
I see the stars shine overhead;
They are the little daisies white
That dot the meadow of the Night.

And often while I'm dreaming so,
Across the sky the Moon will go;
It is a lady, sweet and fair,
Who comes to gather daisies there.

For, when at morning I arise,
There's not a star left in the skies;
She's picked them all and dropped them down
Into the meadows of the town.

In Winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle light.
In Summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
   In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
   Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
   And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
    What a beautiful Pussy you are,
         You are,
         You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
   How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
   But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
   To the land where the Bong-Tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
   With a ring at the end of his nose,
             His nose,
             His nose,
   With a ring at the end of his nose.

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
   Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."
So they took it away, and were married next day
   By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
   Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
   They danced by the light of the moon,
             The moon,
             The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

Birds all the sunny day
    Flutter and quarrel
Here in the arbour-like
    Tent of the laurel.

Here in the fork
    The brown nest is seated;
Four little blue eggs
    The mother keeps heated.

While we stand watching her
    Staring like gabies,
Safe in each egg are the
    Bird's little babies.

Soon the frail eggs they shall
    Chip, and upspringing
Make all the April woods
    Merry with singing.

Younger than we are,
    O children, and frailer,
Soon in blue air they'll be,
    Singer and sailor.

We, so much older,
    Taller and stronger,
We shall look down on the
    Birdies no longer.

They shall go flying
    With musical speeches
High over head in the
    Tops of the beeches.

In spite of our wisdom
    And sensible talking,
We on our feet must go
    Plodding and walking.

The tree outside stands straight and tall
And never can lie down at all;
For if it once should take a rest,
I fear for each small swinging nest;
And so untiredly it stands
And holds up in its leafy hands
The little nests; and soon and late
I bless my good tree, tall and straight,
I bless its kind strong loving arms,
That hold the birds and nests from harms,
It never does grow tired at all,
I love you, Tree, straight, kind, and tall.

In the heart of a seed,
    Buried deep, so deep,
A dear little plant
    Lay fast asleep.

"Wake!" said the sunshine,
    "And creep to the light."
"Wake!" said the voice
    Of the raindrops bright.

The little plant heard,
    And it rose to see
What the wonderful
    Outside world might be.

The people outside on the sidewalk
can’t seem to remain on the ground.
They’re jumping and hopping and springing,
and generally bouncing around.

I’ve never seen anything like it.
It’s such an unusual scene,
as if they have springs in their sneakers,
or bounce on a big trampoline.

I think I know what may have happened
that caused this chaotic event:
Last week they replaced our old sidewalk
with one made of rubber cement!

“Springy Sidewalk” copyright © 2021 Kenn Nesbitt. All Rights Reserved. Published in The Aliens Have Landed at Our School. Reprinted by permission of the author. www.poetry4kids.com

I know very well what I'd rather be
If I didn't always have to be me!
I'd rather be an owl,
A downy feathered owl,
A wink-ity, blink-ity, yellow-eyed owl
In a hole in a hollow tree.
I'd take my dinner in chipmunk town,
And wouldn't I gobble the field mice down,
If I were a wink-ity, blink-ity owl,
And didn't always have to be me!

I know very well what I'd like to do
If I didn't have to do what I do!
I'd go and be a woodpecker,
A rap-ity, tap-ity, red-headed woodpecker
In the top of a tall old tree.
And I'd never take a look
At a lesson or a book,
And I'd scold like a pirate on the sea,
If I only had to do what I like to do,
And didn't always have to be me!

Or else I'd be an antelope,
A pronghorned antelope,
With lots of other antelope
Skimming like a cloud on a wire-grass plian.
A bounding, bouncing antelope,
You'd never get me back to my desk again!

Or I might be a puma,
A singe-colored puma,
A slinking, sly-foot puma
As fierce as fierce could be!
And I'd wait by the waterholes where antelope drink
In the cool of the morning
And I do
              not
                    think
That ever any antelope could get away from me.

But if I were a hunter,
A red Indian hunter -
I'd like to be a hunter, -
I'd have a bow made of juniper wood
From a lightning-blasted tree,
And I'd creep and I'd creep on that puma asleep
A flint tipped arrow,
An eagle feathered arrow,
For a puma kills calves and a puma kills sheep,
And he'd never eat any more antelope
If he once met up with me!

Each new little day slips out of my hand,
And then with another new day I stand;
But soon that is gone and folded away—
I wish I might keep forever one day!
I wish that one good day might always stay,
For the good days hurry on so fast,
Only the bad days seem to last;
But soon the worst of days is past;
And now within my room I stand
With a new little day within my hand.

There's a dandy little fellow,
Who dresses all in yellow,
In yellow with an overcoat of green;
With his hair all crisp and curly,
In the springtime bright and early
A-tripping o'er the meadow he is seen.
Through all the bright June weather,
Like a jolly little tramp,
He wanders o'er the hillside, down the road;
Around his yellow feather,
Thy gypsy fireflies camp;
His companions are the wood lark and the toad.

But at last this little fellow
Doffs his dainty coat of yellow,
And very feebly totters o'er the green;
For he very old is growing
And with hair all white and flowing,
A-nodding in the sunlight he is seen.
Oh, poor dandy, once so spandy,
Golden dancer on the lea!
Older growing, white hair flowing,
Poor little baldhead dandy now is he!

Over in the meadow,
    In the sand, in the sun,
Lived an old mother toad
    And her little toadie one.
"Wink!" said the mother;
    "I wink," said the one;
So she winked and she blinked
    In the sand, in the sun.

Over in the meadow,
    Where the stream runs blue,
Lived an old mother fish
    And her little fishes two.
"Swim!" said the mother;
    "We swim," said the two;
So they swam and they leaped
    Where the stream runs blue.

Over in the meadow,
    In a hole in a tree,
Lived a mother bluebird
    And her little birdies three.
"Sing!" said the mother;
    "We sing," said the three;
So they sang and were glad
    In the hole in the tree.

Over in the meadow,
    In a snug beehive,
Lived a mother honeybee
    And her little honeys five.
"Buzz!" said the mother;
    "We buzz," said the five;
So they buzzed and they hummed
    In the snug beehive.

Over in the meadow,
    Where the clear pools shine,
Lived a green mother frog,
    And her little froggies nine.
"Croak!" said the mother;
    "We croak," said the nine;
So they croaked and they splashed
    Where the clear pools shine.

Over in the meadow,
    In a sly little den,
Lived a gray mother spider
    And her little spiders ten.
"Spin!" said the mother;
    "We spin," said the ten;
So they spun lace webs
    In their sly little den.

Barbara's eyes are blue as azure,
But she is in love with Freddy.
Karen's sweet, but Harry has her.
Gentle Jane is going steady.
Carol hates me. So does May.
Abigail will not be mine.
Nancy lives too far away...
Won't you be my Valentine?

My bed is like a little boat;
    Nurse helps me in when I embark;
She girds me in my sailor's coat
    And starts me in the dark.

At night, I go on board and say
    Good night to all my friends on shore;
I shut my eyes and sail away
    And see and hear no more.

And sometimes things to bed I take,
    As prudent sailors have to do;
Perhaps a slice of wedding-cake,
    Perhaps a toy or two.

All night across the dark we steer;
    But when the day returns at last,
Safe in my room, beside the pier,
    I find my vessel fast.

I spot the hills
With yellow balls in autumn.
I light the prairie cornfields
Orange and tawny gold clusters
And I am called pumpkins.
On the last of October
When dusk is fallen
Children join hands
And circle round me
Singing ghost songs
And love to the harvest moon;
I am a jack-o’-lantern
With terrible teeth
And the children know
I am fooling.

An oak tree and a rosebush grew,
Young and green together,
Talking the talk of growing things-
Wind and water and weather.
And while the rosebush sweetly bloomed
The oak tree grew so high
That now it spoke of newer things-
Eagles, mountain peaks and sky.
'I guess you think you're pretty great,'
The rose was heard to cry,
Screaming as loud as it possibly could
To the treetop in the sky.
'And now you have no time for flower talk,
Now that you've grown so tall.'
'It's not so much that I've grown,' said the tree,
'It's just that you've stayed so small.'

Swinging on a birch-tree
    To a sleepy tune,
Hummed by all the breezes
    In the month of June!
Little leaves a-flutter
    Sound like dancing drops
Of a Brook on pebbles,—
    Song that never stops.

Up and down we seesaw:
    Up into the sky;
How it opens on us,
    Like a wide blue eye!
You and I are sailors
    Rocking on a mast;
And the world's our vessel:
    Ho! she sails so fast!